


The Virgin and the Bridesmaid

by Sherlock_a_Khan



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-02
Updated: 2014-08-20
Packaged: 2018-02-07 06:16:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 6,565
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1887990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sherlock_a_Khan/pseuds/Sherlock_a_Khan
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Janine prefers Sherlock over the other men at the wedding.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

When Sherlock deduced the men at the wedding, he rather thought Janine would find one perhaps suitable enough to quail her needs for a relationship, so he’s not quite sure how she came to be laid out on his bed, her bridesmaid dress spread out around her with her shoes kicked off on the floor by the door. He’s even more unsure of how he came to be kneeling over her, although he thinks it might have something to do with the alcohol they drank after she followed him back to the flat after the reception, complaining that the men there were too dull for her and she much rather enjoy the company of the consulting detective.

After taking a break to visit the loo, he came out to find Janine gone from the couch where he had left her, and followed the smell of her perfume back to his room. Flashes of The Woman sleeping in his bed appeared at the forethought of his memory, and he couldn’t help but wonder what the attraction was of his bed to women.

“Are you going to join me, Sherlock?”

Sherlock could easily deduce what the woman was looking for had it not been for the stag night style haze he had fogging his brain as he climbed onto the bed, an innocent look in his eyes. He knew the concept of sex, of the powers it held over people, but it was never something he bothered with, something he didn’t have time for.

His stance on the matter was obvious to Janine as he climbed over her, his eyes glazed over from the alcohol, the look on his face reminding her of a schoolboy virgin about to get his first shag. Part of her thinks it’s cute, the same part that wants to defile the innocence, to feel those long slender fingers in her. The thought is enough to make her moan, Sherlock giving her a questioning look from over top of her.

She grabs his dominant hand, the consulting detective's eyebrows coming together in a look of confusion as he shifts all of his weight onto the other arm, his legs flexing as he compensates for the position change.

His hand is at Janine's mercy as she slowly pushes it down her body, their eyes locked as Sherlock feels the tips of his fingers slip under her dress and into wetness. He's about to ask what she wants him to do when he feels his fingers slide over a small mound of flesh between her moist lips, the movement immediately causing the woman's body to arch into Sherlock's and a guttural moan to escape her lips.

Her eyes are closed now, her breath coming out in shallow gasps as she shifts his hand again in a slow deliberate motion, moans coming from deep inside her.

Watching her in this state, her mind an obvious mess as she pants and moans mesmerizes Sherlock, the consulting detective studying the pleasurable look on her face the way he studies a crime scene, the information forcing its way into his mind palace.

He doesn't realize he's matching his breathing to her own, or that her hand has slipped away from his to grab onto his back. His fingers continue in the rhythmic motion that she created until she rolls her hips forward suddenly and he feels a warmth envelop the digits, his movements stopping suddenly, causing her eyes to slip open as she groans from the sudden loss of stimulation.

"I'm sorry," the words are said with genuine concern present in his eyes, but she only grins, contracting her muscles around his fingers briefly before grabbing his hand and bringing it back up her body.

A smile plays on her lips, one that Sherlock takes as forgiving as she continues to manipulate his movements, his gaze flicking over to his wet fingers as she finally pulls their hands between them. 

Her tongue is moist and pink as it slips out of her mouth, the tip running up the undersides and a small amount of her own juices puddling on her tongue before she completely envelopes his fingers in her mouth. His throat suddenly feels dry at the sight and feel caused by the movement of her tongue on his digits, and he swallows hard at the look of pleasure burning in her eyes.

It's evident that he has no control over his own body anymore, his mind palace struggling to find a place to store all of the information, all of the sounds and movements that the woman creates from beneath him as he struggles to keep his other arm from giving out from under him and his weight collapsing onto her.

She releases his fingers from her mouth with a wet pop, his hand dropping back to the mattress to catch his weight. Her eyes burn as her smile returns and she pulls him close, her breath warm as she whispers "taste me, Sherlock Holmes" in his ear. When she pulls back so that they're face to face again, she catches Sherlock's gaze dart over to his fingers that were previously being manipulated by her tongue before returning back to her.

The shake of her head is almost unnoticeable as he feels pressure suddenly being put on his shoulders, and he realizes that she wants him to follow the same trajectory that his hand did moments ago. 

"You want-"

His mind palace feels like it's imploding, stumbling over his words, his eyes darting back and forth as he searches for the appropriate reaction to this situation. Tucked away in every corner is all the information he's encountered that he's deemed necessary to keep, from maps of London to every type of cigarette ash, but this, there is no information on this. The search through the mind palace brings him to a room with nothing but Janine, and the look on her face as he rubbed her clit moments ago. 

"Sherl."

The sound of his name brings him back to the here and now, Janine looking slightly worried but with a smirk still on her face as she puts a hand on the back of Sherlock's neck and pulls him down to meet her lips, the quick movement catching him off guard as he feels the woman's tongue slip into his mouth.

The taste is present on her tongue, a taste that is distinct and foreign to the consulting detective. His inquisitive nature drives him to respond back to her, trying to catalogue it away, but it soon disappears and he's left with the taste of nothing but her saliva mingling with his own. 

It’s enough to lead him in the right direction as he pushes Janine’s dress up to her waist and moves back on the bed so that he’s stretched out between her legs, his fingers parting the wet lips.

The smell, like the taste is distinct, being catalogued away in Sherlock's mind palace as he admires the wet, swollen flesh in front of him, the feeling of Janine's fingers rubbing along his scalp and lightly tugging his hair barely breaking through his consciousness as he reaches his tongue out, allowing the tip to gently rub against the mound of flesh that his finger previously massaged.

Hips buck ever so slightly, Sherlock's name coming out as a moan on parted lips as he revels in the new taste, his hands coming up to steady Janine's hips as he builds the courage to snake the tip of his tongue in a circular motion around her clit.

He can feel her body shaking under his grip, his tongue tracing languid patterns on her wet skin and drawing out strings of moans and curse words, her hands leaving his head to cover those holding a tight grip on her hips. Her nails dig into his flesh, his fingertips into her skin, the both of them leaving marks that will surely be present tomorrow.

Time is lost between the two, Janine's breathing coming out at the rate of multiple orgasms, words caught in her throat. Sherlock can feel her tiring, her grip on his hands loosening, and he takes one last lap with his tongue before sitting up, wiping his mouth with his hand as he stares at the woman splayed out in front of him, her chest heaving and eyes closed.

He leans over her, his tongue still coated in her juices as he kisses the corner of her mouth, asking for an invitation in. She doesn't hesitate, taking control of the kiss, tasting every bit of herself before pulling away, her hands lightly holding his shoulders as she squeezes her legs on either side of the consulting detective.

She wants to continue the fun but the sound of Sherlock’s phone snaps her back to reality as the consulting detective doesn’t hesitate to answer it. She figures she can only ask so much from a man who goes days without eating in order to pursue a case, and she supposes this situation is no different as he climbs off the bed, leaving the room while talking about a dead body found on a rooftop.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I promise I didn’t forget about this fic, I’ve just been dealing with some horrible writer’s block. It still isn’t 100% gone, but at least I’ve managed to crank out a chapter.

Almost a week goes by before Janine finally gives up on waiting to hear from Sherlock, the memories of that night only managing to sustain her for so long before she can’t help herself, wanting more from the consulting detective.

She shows up at 221b to find him laid out on the couch in his pyjamas and dressing gown, his fingers steepled under his chin with his eyes closed. She thinks he doesn’t notice her, seeming to forget that this is the Sherlock Holmes, the consulting detective letting a smirk play on his lips when he says “your thoughts are inappropriate,” his eyes remaining closed.

“I’m hardly to blame, you’re the one that put them there.” The words are said as she makes her way over to the couch, sitting on the edge of it at Sherlock’s side, his eyes still closed.

“Your inebriations put the thoughts in your head.”

“That tongue put the thoughts in my head.” With that response Sherlock finally opens his eyes, an exasperated expression crossing his face.

“Yes, well, please do contain your hormones, I’m on a case.”

Sherlock notices the playful pout, rolling his eyes before closing them again, trying to refocus his attention on whatever it was that he was thinking about previously. He finds it hard to, however, when Janine is suddenly straddling his lap, leaning forward so that their lips are only centimeters apart.

“Sherlock Holmes, you’re exhausting.” Her breath is warm against his lips, their noses almost touching as she continues to lean close, noticing that his hands are resting on her hips. Sherlock seems confused, thrown off by the sudden distraction as he finds himself struggling to remember what he was thinking about before being interrupted.

A case, something about a case. It takes him a moment but he finally remembers where he left off, returning to his thoughts as if she weren’t even sitting on him. Janine knows he isn’t focusing on her, the look in his eyes obvious that his mind is elsewhere, but part of the fun is trying to distract a man that is otherwise unbreakable.

She leans forward, her hands slipping up under his shirt and rubbing up his chest as her mouth finds the side of his neck, her tongue licking at the skin. His light grip on her hips tighten just enough for her to notice when she starts to grind down against him, and she soon realizes that his breathing is gradually picking up. He’s losing the battle. 

She licks and kisses up the side of his neck until she reaches his mouth, eager to feel his tongue on her body, moaning as she remembers the feel of his tongue on her clit.

It becomes a standoff, Janine holding her ground, the tip of her tongue running along his lips, trying to convince him to let her in. She can tell his resolve is breaking down, her hands sliding down his chest, lower until she reaches his crotch.

The sudden feel of a hand massaging him through his pyjama bottoms causes Sherlock to gasp, Janine taking the opportunity to slip her tongue into his mouth, and almost immediately Sherlock finds himself back in the room of his mind palace occupied by her. Despite his alcohol induced stupor the night of John’s wedding, Sherlock can most definitely remember Janine’s taste and the look on her face when she reached her orgasm.

When he begins to kiss back, Janine knows she’s got his full attention, her hand still rubbing him, feeling him beginning to get aroused under her. She wonders how often he gets aroused, if he takes care of himself when he does or if he tries to will it away instead. The thought of him wanking on his bed, or even in his chair makes Janine wet, her hips grinding down into Sherlock as their tongues participate in a fierce battle, Janine finally coming out on top when Sherlock suddenly pulls away.

For a moment she thinks he’s going to request to stop, but when she looks down at him she notices his eyes closed, his respirations rapid and shallow as he tries to hide the pleasure she is obviously causing him.

With his eyes closed, Janine takes the chance to pull the dress she’s wearing up off her body, revealing nothing but a bra on underneath with her nipples straining against the thin lace material. When Sherlock finally opens his eyes again his breath catches, his hands on Janine’s thighs, his eyes taking in the sight of the woman on top of him.

He’s seen naked women before, mostly while utilizing John’s laptop, but he usually only sees them for a brief second, never bothering to spend much time studying them while on a quest to solve a case. This is different though; he can feel the warmth and softness of Janine’s skin as he slides his hands up her thighs, making the hairs on her arms stand on end as he gets close to her vagina, his thumbs massaging deep circles into her inner thighs as she moans his name. 

After a moment, watching Janine’s eyes flutter close at the feel of his movements, Sherlock slides his hands up her body around to her back, his curiosity piqued as he attempts to remove her bra. At the feel of him fumbling with the clasps Janine looks down at him, a grin playing on her lips, the same look of innocence on Sherlock's face that he had the night of the wedding.

“Sherlock Holmes, the world’s only consulting detective trying to remove my bra. You are a bad boy.”

He lets his hands drop away from her back, a slight blush of embarrassment coloring his cheeks. He's starting to think maybe he should have spent more time analyzing the videos John loves to watch so much, realizing he's in way over his head with the look of empathy that Janine is giving him at the current moment. 

Her comment does nothing to instill confidence either, and suddenly he doesn't want to be in this situation anymore, vulnerable, unsure of how to deal with the new onslaught of feelings coursing through his veins. He closes his eyes, his breathing rapid but not from pleasure, a panic rising up in him. He can only imagine what Mycroft would say right now, seeing him like this.

_Sentiment is a chemical defect found in the losing side, brother mine._ Perhaps if Mycroft were a better brother, he wouldn't be in the early stages of a sexual arousal induced anxiety attack.

"Sherlock." 

"You have to go."

"Sherl-"

"I’m in the middle of a case."

Janine can feel the panic radiating off of Sherlock as she finally removes herself from his lap, grabbing her dress off the floor. She pulls it back on but doesn’t leave, returning to her original spot sitting next to Sherlock on the couch. 

“I didn’t mean to push you, Sherlock.” His eyes remain closed, his breathing still rapid but slowly coming down. He doesn’t respond to her, doesn’t even acknowledge her presence until she’s about to get up, Sherlock’s hand suddenly but gently grabbing her wrist to keep her from going.


	3. Chapter 3

Janine finds herself spending more and more time at 221B, but finds Sherlock delving deeper and deeper into the case he’s working on. She wonders if his behavior is normal, spending hours deep in thought, seeming to forget she’s there and disappearing for days on end. 

Just when she thinks she should return to her own flat Sherlock pulls her back in, letting her sit in his lap, his arm around her waist as their tongues battle it out in each other’s mouths.

The hand not holding her waist tends to slide up her inner thigh, but always stops just short of giving her what she wants, to feel those fingers inside of her, to feel him inside of her. She finds it frustrating, but reminds herself of the panic attack Sherlock had the last time things began to get too heated between them. She wonders if she can ever get him to go further than a lazy make out session without the help of alcohol.

Sherlock knows he’s playing a dangerous game, leading Janine on, stopping her when he knows she’s about to leave. He’s trying to convince himself that the case is the only reason to keep her around, but he knows he’s failing when she sits in his lap, his arm pulling her close as his hand travels up her inner thigh. He remembers her taste from the wedding night, salivates at the thought of it on his tongue, but he doesn’t allow himself to go further than that, closing that door in his mind palace.

He reminds himself not to get too invested and risk ruining the case he’s worked so hard on, but he always finds himself in the drug den within hours of these moments with Janine, slipping into a euphoric world when the needle punctures his skin, blocking out everything around him.

He remains in this state for almost 24 hours, Wiggins measuring out calculated doses, administering it to Sherlock before the initial dose could completely wear off. It’s in these moments that Sherlock feels his mind slowing down and a fog rolling through his mind palace, and he wonders if this is what normal people feel like.

When John finds him in the drug den, Sherlock finds himself still drugged, although functional. There’s still a haze slowing his thoughts, his ability to deduce, Wiggins able to deduce John faster than he could in his current state.

When they return to the flat, when Mycroft and Anderson’s drug hounds finally leave, Sherlock feels the slime of the drug den covering him, a stumble in his gait going unnoticed by John as he makes his way to the bathroom, turning on the taps as he strips down. Before he can climb in Janine is suddenly standing in front of him, his inhibitions replaced by the drugs as he pulls her against his chest, the kiss slightly more passionate, Sherlock putting more of himself into it.

“Join me.” 

Janine doesn’t have to be asked twice, not that Sherlock is giving her much choice as he unbuttons his shirt and pushes it off her shoulders, her lack of bra finally giving Sherlock an unobstructed view of her breasts, the quick removal of her panties giving him a view of everything.

When he finally sinks into the tub, Janine follows, straddling his lap as she did previously on the couch, their kiss resuming as Sherlock lets his hands cup her breasts. She can feel his erection rubbing against her ass, oblivious to the fact that he’s high, that he probably couldn’t get off even if he wanted to, an unfortunate side effect of the drugs coursing through his veins right now.

When Sherlock’s lips leave her own and begin traveling down her chest, one hand moving down her stomach and between her legs, her thoughts become jumbled, a moan leaving her lips as he sucks her nipple into his mouth, flicking his tongue against it as his fingers rub between her legs, setting her nerves on fire.

“Sherlock, maybe we shouldn’t do this, John is still here.”

Sherlock ignores her statement, Janine forgetting what she was even saying as she feels two fingers slip inside her, another rubbing her clit as Sherlock switches to her other nipple. Her head falls forward, cheek resting against Sherlock’s head as she stifles the moans, biting her lower lip as she rides Sherlock’s fingers.

She wants more, to feel _him_ inside of her, but when she reaches behind her to grab hold of his erection he pulls her hand away, his lips leaving her chest long enough to direct her to hold onto him. She’s confused by his command until she feels him standing up, taking her with him as she wraps her legs around his waist, their lips meeting again as he carefully steps out of the tub, her ass landing on the edge of the counter top of the sink.

When he puts his hands between her thighs and spreads her legs, she unlatches her feet from his back, leaning back on her forearms as he sinks to his knees between her legs, pulling her forward until she’s just barely on the edge of the counter, giving him more access as he kisses and licks from her knee to just inside her thigh.

She can’t help but watch as long slender fingers part her lips, two fingers from his other hand delving back inside her as he tongue’s her clit, the different sensations causing her head to hit the mirror as she arches her back.

Sherlock revels in the taste of Janine, can’t get enough of it as he removes his fingers from inside her and replaces them with his tongue, feeling her wetness on his face as he slowly pulls back, a string of his saliva mixed with her juices connecting his tongue to her pussy as he pulls back several inches to take in the sight in front of him.

Janine takes the opportunity to slip her own hand between her legs, fingering her clit as Sherlock stares like a teenager watching his first porn. After a moment he grabs her wrist and pulls her fingers away, Janine finally crashing over the edge at the feel of Sherlock’s tongue on her again, following in the same pattern her own fingers were creating.

When she’s finally able to sit up, Sherlock standing between her legs, their lips locking in a heated kiss, she feels Sherlock’s erection brushing the inside of her leg. She wraps her hand around it but only for a moment before Sherlock grabs her wrist, pulling it away as he pulls back from the kiss.

“You need to get ready for work, and I have a meeting to attend to.”

Janine pouts, getting frustrated that Sherlock blocks her every time she tries to get what she wants, but she knows he’s right as she stands up off the counter, grabbing his dressing gown off the back of the door as she slips out of the bathroom to return to Sherlock’s room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If this chapter was too much like the first in the way of sexual activities, it was meant to be. The whole, Sherlock can only seem to drop his inhibitions when he's high/drunk, and only to a certain point type of thing.
> 
> There's a fairly high possibility that next chapter will be the last. It should be a lot better than the previous three, with sober Sherlock sex and penetration. ;)


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay, hopefully I’ve made up for it. Thanks for all the Kudos.

 

As Janine leaves the hospital room, Sherlock finds himself more than a little disappointed, knowing that he has in fact screwed up what could have been an interesting friendship. Despite her frequent attempts at sexual gratification at the expense of the detective, he quite enjoyed her company since the wedding, since he found his flat too quiet, too empty with the departure of his friend and blogger.

He tries to let the thought of her go, close the door to that room in his mind palace, but hearing her name on the lips of the man he detests most, knowing that she had to stand by and allow Magnussen to flick her in the face the way he did John causes him to reach his tipping point. When he pulls the trigger, when Magnussen’s lifeless body drops to the ground, he hopes Janine can find peace in knowing that whatever secrets he held over her are now hers to keep, although he hides his intentions behind the veil of protecting Mary and John.

Over the next ten months of tracking down Moriarty, deducing how he managed to survive his own suicide, and watch him being led, shackled, behind the heavy iron doors of a maximum security prison, Sherlock finds himself frequently visiting that room in his Mind Palace that he’s tried to shut away. Though his exile was lifted to allow him the chance to take down London’s more notorious criminal, Sherlock feels as if life has moved on around him, John and Mary’s attention focused on their child, the media frenzy that once followed him dying away until he finds himself sitting in the chair in his flat, violin abandoned next to him, the adventure in his life fading to nothing as he’s banned from working with Scotland Yard as part of his punishment for Magnussen’s death.

When he can no longer handle the drone, boring life that now surrounds him, Sherlock finds himself traveling to Sussex Downs, his sudden appearance at the door of Janine’s cottage only catching her slightly by surprise, the grin that has failed to make an appearance in the past several months finally gracing his features at the sight of her standing in front of him.

Though Sherlock doesn’t typically fancy himself for small talk and meaningless conversations, he decides that listening to Janine talk about the bees and the quiet cottage life isn’t all that horrible, better than his skull who has been unable to perform at its job of providing a sufficient sounding board since John entered the picture and made talking to inanimate objects far less satisfying.

When Janine’s long sentences begin to become marked with small yawns, Sherlock pulls himself off the couch, grabbing their cups of tea and walking them into the kitchen as she follows. She puts up only a small fight when he suggests that she turn in for the night, and he thanks her when she gives him a blanket and pillow to utilize whilst sleeping on the couch, the former consulting detective stripping down to his pants when he realizes he didn’t put much forethought into the trip so as to bring a set of pyjamas.

For several hours Sherlock lay on the couch, one arm tucked behind his head as he listens to the steady breathing coming from Janine’s open bedroom door, his eyes staring blankly at the ceiling as he allows himself to think. He finds as he ventures through his mind palace that many doors have been closed off, those doors and corridors containing the large amounts of information he gathered throughout the years of being the world’s only consulting detective, that information becoming far less useful as the title was stripped from him in the wake of his becoming a murderer.

The word leaves an unfavorable taste in his mouth, makes him feel as though he’s being lumped in with all of the criminals that he’s helped put behind bars. The idea that he did it to protect the people he cares about most makes it settle in his stomach a little easier, but the sudden remembrance of Janine’s name on the lips of a heartless man reminds him that some damage was already done before he was able to make the fateful decision.

That is the thought that drives him as he finds himself quietly slipping out from under the blanket laying haphazardly across his legs, the distance to Janine’s room short as he finds himself in the doorway watching her sleep, the steady rise and fall of her breasts as she breathes stirring arousal that he’s been lacking since he last saw her in the hospital room.

She’s lying on her side facing him, one arm under her pillow much like he was lying before, the other arm draped over her mid-section. The color of her bra, and the small piece of lace panties barely visible over the top of her blanket are the same color as her bridesmaid dress, the images flooding his groin with heat as he walks around the bed, his moves slow and calculated as he sits behind her, pulling the blanket off of her body with the slightest of touches.

The move causes her to roll onto her back next to him, a sigh leaving her lips, her eyes remaining closed as he climbs over top of her on all fours, their lips centimeters from each other, reminiscent of when she straddled him on the couch. When he places a kiss just at the edge of her lips she doesn’t respond, and he moves to her jawline, placing feather kisses down it until he reaches her neck, a slight jolt shooting through his body as he feels fingers slide into his hair.

He expects her to say something, to perhaps push him away after the way they left things in London, but it’s obvious the betrayal has at least ebbed away as she arches her back into him, the lace of her bra brushing against his chest as he takes the chance and slips his hand around her back, managing to unclasp it on the first shot.

“Someone’s been practicing.”

“I’ve had a bit of free time lately, decided to do some research.”

Their grins mirror each other as Sherlock sits back on his legs, Janine putting up no fight as he pulls off her bra and tosses it onto the floor. As he goes back to kissing and licking her neck, slowly moving down to her chest, she manages to get her legs from between his, her knees spreading.

He pays considerable attention to her breasts, teeth grazing over nipples, fingers pinching and rubbing where his mouth isn’t. Her moans are interspersed with ragged breathing as she pushes her head back into the pillow, Sherlock making his way further down her body, fingers suddenly hooked in the lace of her panties.

He can feel the heat radiating from her, can smell the intoxicating smell that is uniquely Janine, and he hungers to taste her as he has in the past, feel her thighs shaking as his tongue makes her unintelligible.

As he moves to go further down Janine pulls on his hair, forcing him to look up at her, the look of disappointment for once appearing on his face the way it has on hers so many times as he crawls back up her body, obliging when she pulls him down for a kiss.

“This time it’s my turn.” She whispers in his ear as they part from the kiss, and Sherlock follows command when Janine pushes on his chest, signaling for him to lie on his back next to her.

She likes this new side of Sherlock, the look of innocence still in his eyes that now mingles with burning lust, his moves more confident, more _researched_. He seems every bit in control of the situation, as if he’s shagged hundreds of women, but they both still know the truth, and Janine wants to see how he handles having the control taken from him as she turns the table around and pulls off his pants, moving to sit between his parted legs.

His body stiffens as she grabs his erection, forcing her to stop, to look for the panic in his eyes that she has seen previously. She finds his eyes closed, his breathing ragged, and she knows he’s trying to force the panic down, his hands fisted in the bed sheets.

Her eyes remain on him as she begins a slow rhythm on his penis, hand moving up and down, thumb brushing over the tip and spreading the pre-cum. When she thinks he can handle it she ducks her head down, her long hair brushing the inside of his thigh as she laps at the head of his penis with her tongue, trying to ease him into it as his breathing comes out even more ragged.

She considers letting him switch roles again, turn control back over to him and go at his own pace, but she decides that she deserves this after the stunt with the proposal, still a little bitter that she allowed herself to be fooled so easily.

When she finally takes the head into her mouth she thinks this might be the end of Sherlock Holmes, a strangled cry escaping his lips much to his embarrassment, his knuckles as white as the sheets he’s grasping. Research does little to prepare you for the actual act when the porn is scripted, orgasms faked, and though Sherlock thinks he might have made a mistake by initiating this, it’s impossible to find his voice when he feels Janine’s lips slide even further, taking his entire shaft into her mouth.

As she begins a steady pace, tongue drawing lazy patterns, teeth grazing ever so lightly against the sensitive skin, Sherlock can only hold on for the ride, thinking about how very much not like masturbation this feels. He doesn’t do it often, feels like it’s a waste of time when he has to, but this is something different all together, and he suddenly realizes why John was always on the prowl for another woman to bed.

Janine knows Sherlock won’t last long with all of the new stimulation, thinks he just might pass out before he reaches climax, but she much enjoys the reaction she’s getting out of him, heels digging into the mattress as he tries to hold back. When she finally releases him from her mouth, his skin glistening with her saliva, she moves up his body so she’s straddling his waist, his eyes still screwed shut as she leans forward, hands on his chest.

When she presses her lips against his it takes him a moment to register it, his hands finally releasing the sheets as he allows her tongue to slide into his mouth, hands finding their way to her hips as she grinds down into him, hardened cock rubbing against her ass.

He faintly realizes that somewhere between sucking him off and straddling him she discarded her panties, and she moans into his mouth when he allows a hand to slip between her thighs, feeling the wetness coating his fingers when he pushes them into her.

“Sherl, open your eyes.” He only realizes they’re still closed when she pulls away from his lips, their breaths mingling as they try to regain the air lost in the kiss. When she reaches between them to grab his hand he reluctantly allows her, their eyes focused in on each other as she pushes it to the side and grabs the base of his cock, moving her hips so that the head slides between the wet lips, rubbing against the clitoris.

She can see the look of panic returning to his eyes, can feel it beneath her and on her as he holds her hips a little too tightly, his fingers assuredly leaving bruises on her soft skin. She gives him a quick peck on the corner of his lips, his eyes never leaving her, her hand giving his cock a squeeze as she shifts her hips again, positioning him at her opening.

She uses her free hand to brace herself on his chest, his grip getting just shy of unbearable as she sinks down onto him, his breathing stopping all together at the feel of being _in_ her, her walls spasming around him and sending shockwaves of pleasure through both of their bodies.

She remains where she’s at for several long moments, allowing Sherlock to adjust, his hands finally releasing their tight grip when he reminds himself to breathe. The heaving of his chest causes the slightest of movement in Janine as she continues to rest her weight on him, and she’s surprised when he pulls her hips up, his focus unbroken as he pulls her back down again, exploring the movement.

She finally allows him control of the situation, the look in his eyes reminding her of a child trying to figure out how to operate his new toy, discovering what works and what doesn’t. He settles on a steady pace of thrusting into her at the same time he pulls her down, and she soon finds herself being the one who is struggling to keep her eyes open, her nails digging into his chest as she rests both hands on it, her moans and whispers of the former detective’s name filling the cottage.

When Sherlock notices her legs shaking around him, he stops his thrusts long enough to roll them over so she’s on her back, her legs falling open as he adjusts to the new position. He’s quick to find the right pace again, leaning forward as he captures Janine’s lips with his own, one hand on the mattress to brace himself while the other cups her breast, his thumb rubbing over the hard nipple.

He pulls away from the kiss to allow her to breathe, tasting the sweat on her neck as he sucks and kisses it, and she finds herself arching up into his body, the change in position causing Sherlock’s thrust to brush right against her G-spot. The move sends them both over the edge as they repeat their movements, neither able to keep their eyes open as Sherlock rests his forehead just below her neck, her fingernails drawing small beads of blood from his skin as her orgasm wracks her body.

Nothing else exists but he and Janine in the moment that Sherlock feels the muscles in his abdomen contract, his thrusts more punctuated as he feels himself releasing inside of her, the pain in his back from her grip only adding to the pleasure as they ride the wave of ecstasy.

His thrusts gradually slow until they’ve stopped all together, the two finding just enough energy for a quick kiss before Sherlock finally rolls off of her, their sides touching as they both stare at the ceiling above them, trying to regulate their breathing.

“So that was-“

“Amazing.”

Amazing wasn’t exactly the word Sherlock was going to end his sentence with, but he decides that it’s befitting enough, realizing that all the words that originally came to mind sounded like John’s continued summary of Sherlock’s deduction skills. He supposes they could all apply in this situation as well.

When they’re finally capable of breathing without the worry of passing out, Sherlock finds Janine readjusting her position until she’s on her side, her chest pressed against his side and her cheek resting against his chest. He wraps his arm around her back as he pulls the blanket up over them, her breathing deepening and becoming more regulated as she slips back into the throws of sleep.

Sherlock expects to find his thoughts racing, his mind palace a chaotic mess, but instead he drifts off not too long behind Janine, the only thought on his mind being that he could definitely find ways to enjoy his retirement here with her, in her bed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that, my friends, is the end. Hope you enjoyed it. I’m considering writing up a follow-up to this, smut free, with a little one running around, but we’ll see what happens. Let me know if you think I should, opinions are highly appreciated.


End file.
